Strength of Heart and Soul

This poem is about a supervisor of mine who supervised me during my internship for my license. She died of Lung Cancer in 2006 while still supervising me as an intern.

Model of the healing kind, both helpful and Divine,
     rare power to help discouraged souls
to open up their eyes.
    I appreciate you lending me the gold straight from your heart,
with that gold, pass it on
    to those who stand apart.
I know one day I will prevail and succeed to reach my goals,
    when I do, I will remember you,
the strength of heart and soul.

Paul Hickey
11-25-11

I See, I See

This poem is about all the things in my life which has lead me to being part of the mental health system. It includes friendships that really weren't friendships "Witch's Son", relationships gone wrong "The Phantom", loneliness from being ostracized from the "In-Crowd" for not doing whatever the "In-Crowd" wanted me to do, and suicide attempts in the earlier parts of my life which almost lead to death "Bring me a hammer, my face is red, hit me until I can't breathe again". These attempts would leave me hospitalized in intensive care for weeks with a security guard positioned outside my hospital room to make sure I didn't try anything drastic "The sound of funeral music tuned in my head", not to mention two years of my life that I live in a hospital setting as well as a state hospital.

"I see", "I see", a little war
that brought me to a psycho-ward.
"I see", "I see", those little thoughts
that hung me down for tears to drop.
I release my agony everywhere,
but miss the brain that brings despair.

"I see", "I see", a puzzle piece,
these thought have got me on a leash.
"I see", "I see", a witch's son,
the spell on me is all or none.
Bring me a well to wish a sum,
the sound I hear are the sound of guns.

"I see", "I see", me in my head,
I wonder why the living is dead.
"I hear", "I hear", a sound in my bed,
vibrations of funeral music tuned in my head.
Bring me a hammer, my face is red,
hit me until I can't breathe again.

"I see", "I see", my thoughts are lost,
split me open, the future is shot.
"I see", "I see", the two that rise,
a phantom and a voice of sigh.
Death it seems afar and near,
the phantom brings me phantom tears.

"I see", "I see", little too much,
to what my heart has little to touch.
"I see", "I see", a silent goodbye,
remember of the brain to die.
Can't picture me in tomorrow's scene,
no beauty my heart bring forth to me.

Paul Hickey
11-25-11

Only God Can Judge Me

This poem is about equality and hypocrisy. How many of you have been in a position where people are judging you for the situation that you are in and giving you advice. Then these same people find themselves in the same position and they themselves don't take the same advice they have given you. For example, in today's world of unemployment. It is very easy for someone to say "Why don't you do this or why don't you do that"? Especially when they are employed. However, when they find themselves unemployed and in the same position, they don't take that same advice..very hypocritical if you ask me!

Feasting eyes with jealous words bombard disturbingly without reason,
hypocrisy surmounting with silence staring face-to-face,
as distortion of truth passed from one-to-one
animates visions in the mind's eye of gullible listeners,
taken in from inhumanity of human kind;
Whoever claims rights to control my every move
shall be stricken down with lightning, over come with karma,
left to live with guilt, or left to die by one's own hand.

Only one power greater than my own can judge me for who I am,
creator of man, beliefs of humanity born to everyone;
Flesh filled with purpose complimenting existence on this earth,
God-given needs for all, rights reserved to maintain.
Those attempting to take away shall burn in Hell,
imprisonment forever, where one deserves no freedom,
engulfed with flames of one's own making,
motive charred beyond recognition.

Paul Hickey
11-25-11

Idiot Up My Ass

This poem is for anyone who knows someone who is rude, insulting, and literally a pain in the ass. Have you ever heard some one ask you when you are mad, "What's up your ass? Well, if you hear it again and you have someone who is constantly insulting, you can say "an idiot is up my ass".

Idiot up my ass,
feels like a spreading rash,
someone plunged deep into my crack;
Itching and burning, like a hemorrhoid
needing to be surgically removed before he reaches my brain,
hematochezia from a swollen vein,
he bleeds in my internal world;
A giant scab after causing my wounds,
the mouth of the feces splits me wide open.

Paul Hickey
11-23-11

Mortal Lesson

This poem is about one man's revenge on another man and woman who run off and start a relationship together leaving the forgotten man behind. The woman is caught cheating on him. His only wish, his only dream is to watch them suffer for his emotional pain.

Pull up behind him,
stop short at his back,
swing my leg upward,
kick his feet from out under.

Bend myself low,
grab hold of his collar,
lift the creep upward,
choke-force a holler.

Center my foot at the base of his spine,
arch his trunk backwards,
as the hatch opens wide;
Reveal a bottle, unscrew the lid,
grab hold of his hair and tie up his wrists.

Compel the poison until he's numb inside,
no feeling in his face,
pale outside;
Meanwhile a scream rings out from a near,
"stop"! "Stop"! "Stop it you hear"!

I then twist my head with an unreal grin,
lift up my foot
to track down again;
Releasing his collar from the grips of my hands,
no longer I seek, he is a lifeless man.

I abandon the corpse to run down a witch,
as I get closer
the witch starts to trip;
Slipping from traction as I push herself down,
she falls with a tumble, her face in the ground.

Again I stop short for torture and pain,
press down on her back
like I did with her friend;
Grasp hold of her hair to arch her back slowly,
twist her neck around, a cervical fracture.

After the break, it falls back into place,
with pressure by my hands,
I smash in her face;
Flip the witch over, a catatonic stare,
because of my past, I really don't care.

Pick up a rock as I straddle her chest,
raise my limbs high
for assurance of death;
Down I plummet with insurmountable force,
infinite blows with no remorse.

Pack up my tools,
take a casual stroll;
I don't realize the trouble
nor the future it holds.

Paul Hickey
11-23-11

Miscellaneous Rain

This poem is about someone who has lived his life with years of built up emotional pain from various incidents throughout his life. He tries to cry to release the agony and cleanse his soul but can't find the strength to let it out. However, in the end he has learned how to show his emotion and is finally able to cry.

Cranial hemorrhage,
crimson leaks into mystifying eyes,
still as night,
motionless mist catatonic in visual light,
trouble hidden beneath my cries.
I don't know why.
Why rain falls only in my mind?
Could it be infamous suffering
causing miscellaneous rain?

Why are my tears isolated in fear?
Why? Please give me reasons for this frozen stare,
my head active, pain-shearing in grief.
Can anybody hear? Does anybody care?
God only knows why I feel so scared?
Seeds are planted. What do they reveal?
Exceedingly fast, higher, higher it grows
with no direction, no purpose;
Days on end excruciating shame,
days on end miscellaneous rain.

Let go of this moisture ever silent, tranquil,
descend with liquid emotion,
ensure I am alive and can feel.
Free me, flush me inside out,
"drip-dropping", drip-dropping",
sounds, visions of scarlet tide falling,
much needed pouring,
much needed mourning,
draining me of my flooded brain,
washing away pain,
finally letting go of this miscellaneous rain.

Paul Hickey
11-23-11

Felled Disdain

This is poem that involves tremendous emotional turmoil in one's life and fear of being able to conquer his mood swings. "Felled" mean fierce and "Disdain" means to look at with scorn, thus the title "Felled Disdain". The first line, "Termination floods over an importunate spleen" means an individual who is normally strong being troubled and over come with emotion. "Of all inheritance reigns implacable scars" means that the pain is so deep that the emotional turmoil cannot be cured. "Forlorn" means loneliness, thus "Forlorn in dizziness of pain" means living with loneliness while battling the severe emotional turmoil. "I've been gnashing at grievance of disdain" means one is sick and tired of feeling emotional turmoil, so he battles it everyday. "Outgoing in pendulum ways" means that one is very active but very flaky as a result of his moods. "Felled entwining needles sway", "Cuts and needles cradle me away", "Times of winter blinded by rain" mean that the flakiness is painful and very disruptive of his daily living. The final stanza talks about judgement and other people stigmatizing him as being mentally ill. Why are they calling him mentally ill. Why won't they help him?

Termination floods over an importunate spleen,
of all inheritance reigns implacable scars;
Forlorn in dizziness of pain,
I've been gnashing at grievance of disdain.

Outgoing in pendulum ways,
felled entwining needles sway,
cuts and bruises cradle me away,
times of winter blinded by rain.

I've seen the sane bar manic listings of I as one,
being brought forth to be sustained,
"Why"?
This question has been defined deranged!

Paul Hickey
11-23-11

Miter Was a Writer

Many poets have one thing in common, drugs and/or alcohol. Many of them may claim that their writing is often influenced by the use of drugs and/or alcohol. They believe that creativity really begins to flow while under the influence. Well, that is what this poem about; a writer who finds creativity through the use of drugs and alcohol.

Once upon a time there was a man named Miter
who reached to the stars to become a chronic mad writer.
Spider was his first name, miter was his last,
his middle name was mad because he wrote so fast.

His love wasn't clear, either was his life,
his focus was a woman who stabbed him with a knife.
Miter was a writer who held his power in his ink,
his ideas were amazing under the influence of a drink.

Dirty women, dark and light, were objects of his desire;
he seemed to be obsessed with the thought of breathing fire.
He carried a wicked pen, donned a liquid glowing eye,
he spent his time writing, drinking, thinking, and getting high.

Paul Hickey
11-22-11

Nature Calls

This little poem is about rest and relaxation. It is about finding a place that helps you to relax when under stress. Communicating with nature. Making friends with nature.

You are Yosemite,
my only remedy for my obscenities,
my only home to which I roam
when tension snows,
you are infinity,
you are my friend.

Paul Hickey
11-22-11

Rain

This poem tends to be very symbolic about sadness and happiness. What is happening is that rain symbolizes tears of sadness for whatever reason. It could be just that the weather is bad and the person has seasonal affective traits or he/she is sad about something. Clouds passing by, and the sun burning into the night is symbolic of sadness turning into happiness. Rain ceasing and no more for miles is saying that the sadness and the crying have come to an end.

Up above in the worldly sky,
diamonds fall from way up high.

From my eyes I feel the drips,
fall from Heaven down to my lips.

From inside I start to cry,
as gloomy clouds pass us by.

Give way to Heaven shining bright,
sun that burns into the night.

Crying eyes soon turn to smiles,
rain has ceased, no more for miles.

Paul Hickey

11-22-11

Red Death

This is actually a poem about a drink. I was at a bar one time and I saw someone drinking. what he would do is line up three "Red Death's in a row and he and his buddy would take turns seeing how long it would take to drink all three of them.

Crimson reigns across intoxicated sheltered skies.
Well beyond the heavens I rise, peaking from the stars.
Spirits dance deep within confines of my mysterious mind,
too far gone, blood-red, existent reality barred.

For distant planets I reach from within my blistered soul,
positivity, negativity, I shall make myself at home.
Spirit-drowned up in a hole, nowhere I have to go,
poison toxins released with life awakening my sleepy bones.

"Red death times three, make a line for me,
one-by-one with a wicked laugh I demolish the bloody three"

Water-logged freak felt from nectar in-grown pride,
liquid Gods planting seeds, I am momentarily freed.
Damaged insides, eventually deep down I will die,
sigh, alone with my drink I shall quietly bleed.

Opened up to a whole new world to be, I see,
enjoyment experienced with all who stick around.
Flirtatious company enabling heart-felt needs,
careless of the many thoughtless thinking sounds.

"So give me Red Death times three, make a line for me,
one-by-one with a wicked laugh I demolish the bloody three".

Paul Hickey
11-22-11

Silent Suicide

This poem is about someone who has had a history of suicide attempts. Over the years he has made a great come back short of becoming successful, only to come up against severe road blocks on his journey to his career path. He thinks about suicide but remembers the past and how much of a mess for other people to clean up the after math of the attempts. So instead of attempting suicide by pills or gun etc., he just lives his life, letting nature take its course, as he self-medicates with alcohol on a nightly basis, gradually destroying his internal organs, something he knows will eventually lead to a slow and silent death.

Complex misery manifests silently within deep depths of my soul.
My spirit screams endlessly at barriers blocking light to external freedom.
Paleness colors my perplexed face, for demons cannot escape.
I fail to feel your touch, hear your voice; Lost inside my head,
prisoner of loneliness and despair displaying a surface that really isn't there.
Upon meeting, I don smiles. You think it is real. I believe it to be me.
deep, deep, down in reality it is fake. Lies continue on.

If you can only visualize death inside me. Support systems are dwindling.
I feel void of any passion for life. My heart yearns to cry everyday.
As I fade into solitude, I attempt to retrieve sparks that once
made me passionate for God's many pleasures. "Nectar of the Gods"
unleashed discretely, provides me with temporary sanity,
only to slowly take away my senses and destroy my internal organs,
my body shell hardening, halting every breath. Cancer stricken,
slowly I perish from this earth in grasps of a silent suicide.

Paul Hickey
11-22-11

Request for Death

This poem is about murder for hire. The person to be murdered is someone who betrayed his best friend by having an affair with his girlfriend.

Request for death,
deed for you,
do this for me,
you'll earn your dues.
Follow him home,
mark your place,
wait there a while
before you change.
Ready your weapon,
your on a quest,
take your time,
I want him dead.
Take your time,
do it right,
advance by dark,
still by light.
Remain there unseen,
stay eternal,
stake your gaze
through the window internal.

Sun is set,
again you move,
beneath the window
to carry it through.
Feast your eyes,
a figure inside,
little does he know
about what's outside.
Let him relax,
fall asleep,
fade away,
as you continue to creep.
Keep your head low,
just below,
under each side-house window pain
get down on all fours,
slip quietly through the side door,
like a cat coming in from the rain.

Roam upon the backdoor,
open the wiry cover,
unfold your trusty pocket knife
to pick away the other.
Condemn the noise,
smother the creak,
should the door alert his ears,
sneak inside,
there he sleeps,
not conscious of the fear.
Look around,
what's inside,
I don't really care;
commit the crime,
then we'll talk,
for you have earned your share.
Dive beside the bed,
be sure he doesn't peak,
wait for when the time is clear,
then rise up on your feet.

Shine the steel,
blind his eyes,
as carefully he does wake;
As he does,
cover his mouth,
as both hands suffocate.
Lift his chin,
draw a line
in red from ear-to-ear;
On this mark
cut his throat
and the blood will persevere.
Descend him where it's deep,
he's sure to finally shiver,
wrap him in a cotton sheet
and toss him in the river.

Oh my God!
What have you done?
You cannot stop the blood;
Just place the body in a plastic sack
and let the crimson run.
Rush the corpse to the backdoor,
catch a glimpse of the midnight air,
shift your eyes from side-to-side
to see if all is clear.
In a flash,
exit the door,
trace the footsteps to your place,
throw the dead in the trunk of your car
and drive to a watery grave.
Descend him where it's deep,
he's sure to finally shiver,
wrap him in a cotton sheet
and toss him in the river.

Look around,
is there anybody there?
The forest it seems clear;
Open the trunk,
lift the dead skunk
and drop him at the edge of the river.
Decide on location,
placement unknown,
where you can escape from the heartless crime;
Pick up the stiff,
wade into the rift
and drop him where you make up your mind.
Descend him where it's deep,
he's sure to finally shiver,
wrap him in a cotton sheet
and toss him in the river.

Report back to me,
mission accomplished,
you shall get your share;
He is damp and deep,
eternally asleep,
no longer in my hair.
He is descended where it's deep,
there he'll surely shiver,
wrapped up in a cotton sheet
and tossed into the river.

Paul Hickey
11-22-11

Shallow Soul

This poem is about releasing revenge on shallow, materialistic people. A person has taken so much from people being bullied, made fun of, because he is destitute and not attractive to women..the result, revenge on those who do him wrong.

Shallow is your hopeless soul,
hollow is your grave;
Dig yourself an empty hole,
I shall set the blaze;
Hail to my pyre,
ritualize and chant,
raise my hands up to the sky,
cast away and laugh.

Shallow is your hopeless soul,
hollow is your grave;
Mirrored in your narrow hole,
slave to my flame;
If this is our humanity,
let fools have their way;
Beware of my profanity
released from me in vain.

Paul Hickey
11-22-11

Sinking of the Morning

This poem is about Major Depressive Disorder. Picture yourself not wanting to wake up in the morning. When you wake up you do not want to get out of bed and there are millions of thoughts occupying your mind. these thoughts take over your mind all day and night leaving you severely depressed, maybe even to the point of experiencing hallucinations and/or delusions...complete and utter torment.

Early haze turned into funnel clouds,
pages of social history,
as I awoke to thinking yearning,
morning minds were sinking.
Laying in the glow of daylight,
cradled in a pillow fight,
I was slipping off the sleek of dawn
into the darkness of night.
My mind frozen seared,
dreams demented black,
false smiles cold,
on I cry.
Reality mingles on,
faith tumbles out,
and on I die.

Paul Hickey
11-22-11

Innocence taken away

Inside child grieving, innocence taken away,
stolen from trusted hands that feed her;
Unprotected by flesh and blood, betrayal
by those she loved with passion, with heart,
they were the heart and soul within her,
yet there is death of inner ruins from tainted tree roots.

Alive, breathing shallow, occupied by fear,
disassociating from vivid imagery of connected fate,
she stands in avoidance of trauma past and present,
as emergence will trigger wailing violent screams
deep into the dead of night, like dead waking the dead,
yet periodic bursts of light sparkles hope from bleak.

Upon me a scared and loving child stricken with unthinkable pain,
granted, a hailed survivor, courageous and sincere,
so much love to give from a heart brutally halted at will.
I listen closely, as she calls out for a caring touch,
need for snug embrace, still, to ensure comfort of being,
endured, an endless fight for freedom to escape the nostalgic perpetrator.

Paul Hickey
11-20-11

Mind Astray

This poem is about living with schizophrenia.

Fragments of life has gone.
My saturated mind is on the combines of retribution,
no cure or natural solution;
Observe myself in feeble prostration of any prior peril needed
to overcome to live a normal seed, not yet defeating
the prolonging threat of agony.
Schizophrenia continues to hammer at me,
like two hearts on the Virge of attack,
with awe, if the end is approaching fast.

"Enter beast once never sought,
as hopes in me grieve heaven not".

Ponder if I can persevere without feeling full forces of psychosis
splitting functioning portions of my brain.
Time is not over for me.
I can still lose my mind completely.
I pray not though the weight of the world balances on my shoulders.

"Mind astray clue me in as when,
if or if not the devil is closing in".

Desolation has already invaded the innocence of my vanity,
filling my mind with obsessive profanity.
"Possessed by fear of the other in me,
normality I can no longer hear or see".
In solitude I stay!

Isolation from society involves fear of fear
overtaking my thoughts, as if I am gazing directly into a mirror.
"I withhold my space through imaginary fear,
anyone incoming begins my flight of tears".

Unheard voices proceed to build with profound anxiety.
Centered deep in the limbic system,
they magnify with untamed affect, waiting to penetrate my head.
Even though they have not yet taken control of my thinking,
I fear that tomorrow I may be dead.
I think about what use to be.
I intoxicate myself to ease any further pain,
seizing creatures that pound on me
while attempting to shed grace in God's name.

"Torment awaits to bleed for real,
as I feel the influence of a mental shield".

I am beginning to foresee the future.
Hallucinations try to obliterate what's left of reality
into strange features never before seen by human eyes;
"Touch me with anything"!
"Grip me with something"!
"Tap me with nothing"!
I will feel a strength extremely unreal.

"Evil out-wits actual existence,
through the ears, on the skin, in the visual distance".

Struggling for dear life, normality of nostalgic sights
which I once functionally contained, become more and more
that of images of underground spirits sweeping through
the symbolism of my dreams.

"Abused by all sorts of words in the wind,
abruptly scarce shadows emerge from within".

I appeal to you screaming from the top of my lungs
when social objects step forth through my space,
purely a bludgeoned burial for faith!
observe my body.
It is floating!
It is drifting!
There are no thoughts that appear authentic.

"Anything within my fantasies are mine,
here my talents noticeably shine.
If you corrupt my still training of thought in deceiving ways,
I will yell for your hell until you regretfully obey".

"No,no,no"! "Somebody help me"! "Hurry... rescue me"! "Let me live"!
"Where did they go"? "Are they above me"? "Are they behind me"?
"Are they in front of me"? "Every body's after me"!
"They are coming from all walks of life, from various directions",
as delusional persecution causes me to look through the eyes of others
in betrayal of myself.

                                       "FRIGHTENING"!
                                       "SELF-HYPNOTIZING"!

Unbelievable, unforgettable, undeniably set aside from attack, I am Peter Pan
ruling the world; leader of the pack, and my girlfriend is Wendy.
Endeavor to refrain me. No one can! I am hero to the young, superior to the old;
the only one who can save you from violent misconduct. Delusions of grandeur
beckon all life's taste of precision and materiality in my blood.
                                       "GRATIFYING"!
                                       "MYSTIFYING"!
To far over my head to pull myself together. The speculation sustains on.

"Spiritual war of right and wrong,
obtained from the trepidation I carry on".

Schizophrenia, world of dementia,
common worry for some, liberty abandoned.
He had his goals, he had his ambitions, he had his friends
and much more;
                                    "LIGHTNING STRIKES"!
                                    "FEUDAL BITES"!
Infliction of curses demonizes anguish from the soul.
As the blissful planet calgonizes eternally,
hence from myself I see it go.

Paul Hickey
11-19-11

Dark and Silent Me

This poem is for everyone who has a silent dark side that no one knows about. Often times people will say, "I know you very well". The truth of the matter is nobody knows anyone completely. This is about showing the sunny side in public but behind closed doors the dark side emerges and grows stronger with every minute one is left alone. Eventually this dark side becomes released in public.

I am searching for an Angel
to cleanse my sinful soul;
Tired of the heartache,
the weight of my hole.

I am feeling kind of dreary
from my world grown apart;
I have a headache bulging
from my barely beating heart.

I feel concealed hatred
repeatedly taring at my brain;
In it's grasp, I don a mask
disguising me from pain.

I can barely keep my eyes open
to indicate a pulse;
I feel like sleeping the night away
to free me from the hoax.

You are the Devil loitering
with every thought I preach;
I am my worst enemy,
the Devil as we speak.

I want to splatter blood
while shredding to bits your head;
I want to feel relieved
knowing that you are dead.

I am eating my existence
with self-defeating sayings;
There may be a slug
chilling through my veins.

Drunk from the spirit
that kills my living cells,
I am blasted on the moonshine,
where Heaven becomes my Hell.
My finger pulls the trigger
to perish both of me;
Watch your step, I may forget
and shoot both you and me.

Paul Hickey
11-18-11

Bones

This poem is about aging, arthritis, and having the bones degenerate as one gets older.

Frail is the spine that burdens,
naked as the hinge draws closer,
age ascending! calcium descending!
Kyphosis, each liquid draining,
Lordosis, I feel a little lame.
I flex but I am stiff.
Soundness, Just let me stretch!
 Just let me sleep!
Burning, swollen, aching knees,
Exhausted from carrying the weight of my bones.

Paul Hickey
11-18-11

Don't Leave

This poem is about a close friendship. When one person has to move far away the other is extremely saddened by her departure, wondering who he can turn to with his most intimate secrets now that she is leaving. Some how he finds strength from within and uses the memory of her to push on through life. Even though she is not physically present, her spirit still keeps him alive.

Relations spent in entirety,
annoyances we share,
sorrows I struggle to swallow,
as you flee to test the air.
My mind is labored hollow,
I wail myself to sleep,
your persona missed,
I yen to follow,
so I deeply weep.

"Run-drip", "run-drip", I fail to halt my tears,
final days, final stay, they will fall for infinite years.
Don't leave, I need you here!
I need your support and care!
What to do without your heart,
without your soul so near?
I can't imagine someone like you to totally disappear!
Your memory lives, I can handle my stress,
God-like vision, I can handle my stress,
you are an Angel floating around.

I will always hold a special place for you.
I will reserve your essence in my heart.
I will keep your soul unhidden in me.
I will bless your spirit wherever you are.
I will incessantly reflect upon you.
I will praise the Angel internal.
I will remember you whatever you do,
and so I cry eternal.

Paul Hickey
11-18-11

Bombs

This poem is about the many people out there in this world who have difficulty expressing their anger in appropriate fashion. Instead, their anger builds inside them until one final straw causes the bomb to explode leading to murder, shooting rampages etc.

Several lives flourish as another erupts in flames,
another tale of world-wide tragedy,
no answers only blame.
Have we not learned from past experience
of the many deeply buried bombs?
Many lay upon us just waiting to go off.

Have we not learned from prior world-wide blood
spilled by the human hand,
the needy to be nurtured so that blood won't spill from man?
Bombs among us walk the earth buried deeper every day,
as vastly ignored and brushed aside,
we let explosive crimson reign.
As another story unfolds somewhere and innocent people die,
clueless words are spoken again,
"I never thought he would do it".

Bombs that walk upon us often start early and sprout through life,
what makes the bomb explode with blood,
is never ending strife.
Defusing may be possible, difficult when the fuse looms larger,
Stoppage as it first is planted
will most likely halt the trigger.
Stigma lives on of mental health that should never ever be,
as a result the world is afraid to acknowledge
the warning signs that be.

There are many bombs among us, another tragedy will occur again,
who and what will be the target?
Who will die and live?
Vastly ignored and brushed aside, disparity will happen again,
lets wake up and help each other,
not bully each other instead.
Single looks, single words, the way one dresses, the way one appears,
lets wake up and help each other dissipate these bombs,
embrace the old and the young with faith to carry on,
that only us as humans can move as one beyond,
stop this carnage overload from reaching mass decline.

Shades of color walking free with different engulfing flavors,
all with alternate views
of how to look at human behavior.
When man spills blood from his fellow man leaving the world to conjure the cost,
its time to exclude from our values,
try to save what we have lost.
Bombs of different flavors, different shades of color,
who are taught to hide their problems and keep them deep down under.

When the next bomb drops with whatever thoughts spilling human blood,
there will be no time to think about
whether or not we are understood.
Living is dead, several are dead, who cares about what is culture?
Just unite with open arms, embrace the world together.

What are those words always spoken just after a bloody rampage?
"He seemed so shy, just a regular guy
but I never thought he would do it".
Proof of the past again and again has shown how destructive one person can be,
if a bomb is left inside of them
for what seems an eternity.
It could be you, it could be me, or someone we may never see,
I know one thing's for sure, until we learn
more and more people will bleed.

Paul Hickey
11-18-11

Choice of Heart

This poem is about someone who is addicted to cocaine and who chooses cocaine over a friendship.

See visions of you flying flaw with life,
fall truth of what desecrates premonition;
Under scope there is no time for me,
you must derail, withdrawal drug-free;
Pother about mortifying death you wish,
see you with eternal snowy mist;
See disdain untamed within cocaine dreams,
not my vision to part on agony of trembling nerves,
your choice of heart which riddles my mind to burst.

Paul Hickey
11-18-11

Blood-Red Dawn

This poem is about a tragic incident that occurred no more than 2 miles from my house. A disgruntled worker open-fired on co-workers killing three people and injuring nine others. After the shooting he was on the run in close by my place of residence for 24 hours before making a suicidal gesture and being gunned down in the driveway of a quiet resident neighborhood.

Pre-dawn hours fall upon lost horizons,
serenity fills the early morning air;
Not a soul has awakened from the quiet dark,
Not even the smallest of sounds had appeared.

Suddenly I am awoken to sounds of sirens screaming,
briefly my eyes open to acknowledge the noise;
I was thinking that maybe in reality I was dreaming,
I fell back down into sleep I enjoy.

Early light then surfaces, I rise awake and curious
to find what I heard to be a nightmare;
Real, haunting, and for miles around,
a city living in fear.

Blood-shed was further from our minds,
as we entered a new day of life;
Only skies were gray in more ways than one,
as tragic events unfolded near by.

His brain executed by truth or paranoia,
scars that played a brutal role;
Everyone believed to be after him now,
fire him, the ultimate goal.

Donning a stoned and emotionless face,
basking in hate that breeds;
He arrived for carnage of those who betray,
late, to slowly watch them bleed.

Entering the plant, a meeting taking place,
he strolls in without saying a word;
Pours a drink and circles the room,
then exits the building with hurt.

Without even a glance he walked straight to his car,
flipped open the trunk with his hands;
Reached into the back, pulled out a sack,
brandished a gun in his hand.

One-by-one he picked them off
with single bullets to the chest;
Packing more heat in the back of his car,
he vowed to finish off the rest.

Circling the room one more time
to assure everyone was dead;
First there was gun-fire followed by silence,
as survivors tried to keep their heads.

One survivor sprints for the door
to a near-by empty room;
Dials for assistance to end the gore,
as he watches the casualties zoom.

One-by-one, friend and such,
he cannot believe his eyes;
Blood on the walls, blood on the floor,
blood on a murderer's mind.

In a flash he starts to dash,
he hears the sirens roar;
Out to his car, as fast as he can,
leaving behind a bloody morgue.

Revs the engine, steps on the gas,
pulls out with a burning thunder;
Metal to the floor driving fast,
won't stop until he's six feet under.

Skies the limit as faster he goes,
taring past on-coming rescue;
With evil in his eyes, rampage on high,
irrationality symbolic of mood.

Rescue arrives to run inside,
horrific the scene they find;
Three dead with bullets in their chests,
with six more left to die.

A call made forth to threaten again,
static sounds possesses the speakers;
As he vows to come back to finish the job,
the volume on the radio gets weaker.

Meanwhile two long hours have passed
with no signs of a villainous stalker;
Then an alert comes in, there has been an attempt
to car-jack an innocent walker.

He struggled with her to control her car,
success would not prevail;
He shot her once in the leg and she fell,
as the assailant fled derailed.

As news came in, "a car-jacking had occurred,
a killer is on the loose";
Connections made near and afar,
similarities between the two.

SWAT teams quickly filled the areas,
searching for miles around;
As nightfall was quickly ascending on us,
not a single soul was found.

Helicopters overhead, canines chasing scent,
officers checking door-to-door,
on foot, how far could he have went;
As dark proceeded to blind the day,
rainfall at a halt;
Still not a face to place with hate,
he could be waiting to bolt.

Hours continued to pass us by
with no trace of human kind;
Deep into the fall of night
carnage left behind.

Stationed at every mandated post,
residential lights turned off;
Officers searching for a ghost
who has eluded every cop.

An empty house without any lights,
intruder hidden away;
It seems as though he's laying low
until the light of day.

No way out he makes his move,
as the sunlight shines it's rays;
Wedges himself between two cars,
when officers see his face.

Remembering of the day before,
blood spilled at the hands of a killer;
Officers proceed to raise their guns
with orders to surrender.

A suicidal gesture is made
pointing his weapon to his head;
Then he waves his gun at the cops,
in seconds he was dead.

Sighs of relief heard from around,
a madman has been shot dead in the streets;
Now a community can come together in silence,
to reflect on those who can no longer breathe.

Paul Hickey
11-17-11

Time Unlimited

This poem is about "Bipolar Disorder". This is a perfect example of taking a disorder and turning it into a poem to help me learn about the cause of the disorder, its symptoms, and treatment. There are two types of bipolar disorder. "Bipolar I Disorder", and "Bipolar II disorder". Bipolar I disorder tends to be the most potent one. In this disorder a person experiences manic episodes accompanied by a history of depressive episodes. He/or she may experience hallucinations/and or delusions and the disorder may mimic that of schizophrenia. It is the most potent of the two. In bipolar II disorder, he/she experiences hypo-manic episodes accompanied by a history of major depressive episodes. Bipolar II Disorder is less likely to have hallucinations/and or delusions resembling schizophrenia. I am just focusing on Bipolar Disorder as a whole in this poem.

Betwixt mad intervals of agile overzealousness and constant episodic despair
my mood unexpectedly bores the face of normality,
breathing like a human once more, alright but unsure;
I forth hold abilities to uncork words from vocals of my throat in a bloodless pace,
as my thoughts seize to race from start to finish,
my head clutching on in full grip, striving not to slip;
Violent shifts of destructive behavior, for time being ends,
as if never once interfering with consciousness,
triggering reactive blessedness.

"Unearthly predicament being portrayed,
earthly construction of my life delayed"!

Before knowledge of occurrence returns to enlighten this infectious disease
overtaking my personality,
again I am plagued with patchy actions of euphoria,
lasting for months!
Possibly for years!
Most likely for hours!
Leading into unwholesome days!
Of course going on for seconds!
 For minutes!
As obscurity changes to lucidity,
brightness to shade,
the time is unlimited!

Energy maximized to one's overextended, annihilated potential each episode appearing,
inflates probability of another session with dateless depression;
Overcast darkens sunlight commanding the months!
Rain outshines sun drowning the years!
Wind overpowers spring flowers arresting the hours!
Thunder becomes torturing sound secluding the days!
Lightning delivers supersonic strikes diminishing minutes to seconds!
I am petrified of my outlook,
the future looks dim!
Nothing I hear or see is regarded as lived!
As flaky moods live on tears are fought back, stimulation on the attack,
the time is unlimited!

Freedom from pestilence degraded, confusion stripping every living cell in my brain,
thus preparing me for more of the same;
Upended by the withered of vexation,
onward into further frenzied titillation,
as sterile nights exceed through dawn the adverse way;
Night to day!
Broad-light to evening!
Distress-fullness to a craze!
Eagerness to melancholia!
"Mind boggling, the brain has withdrawn from reality"!

Vertigo spins with immeasurable tasks, "can do"? "No do"!
And spears me with God-awful rights to surface again at any time.

"I am the star of the play; the only God in my life, leader in the strife",
unstoppable,
adorable,
"no one can even amount to the pulsating energy
I relay to the outer frame of my existence",
unpredictable,
indistinguishable

Then, if, and when, identity lowered occurs again, prosperity is weakened;
My spirit lays down to rest as fragments of me lean towards the spacey side of destiny;
I am defaced with powerful sense of denunciation;
I am useless! Forever, altogether worthless!
Life becomes a impotent thing,
I can't even see the silence it brings;
Madness and depression fall endlessly,
my essence follows relentlessly;
A friend in need is one to leave,
without them I no longer can compete;
No one on earth considers me,
I don't hesitate to release my disease.

                         "Weapon of sharpness, blood-waiting blade,
                            before me still, a nameless fate;
                            Shall it be me? Will it be them?
                            I must let go of this friction within!
                            Screaming cries erupt my mind,
                            I don't know if I'm dead or alive;
                            Manic Depression, mood deprivation,
                            depression accompanied by frequent flightiness;
                            Desecration seeking, it must be weakened
                            relieve me of my screaming;
                            Give me liberty, give me life,
                             help me throw away the knife;
                             End my fights, end my gloom,
                             free my life of this multiple wound".

Paul Hickey
11-17-11

Blade of the Knife

This poem is a suicidal poem. It implies a woman cheating on a man and the man is obsessing about being alone and thinking about his girlfriend in bed with another man. He feels left out and punishes himself internally. The result, slicing his wrists.

As I watch with the slightest temperament and rage,
     cold touching steel cuts through my veins;
Slowly it moves its way through my skin,
     faster and faster I think not to live.

I see them laying there side-by-side,
     while patiently sharpness slices my pride;
Thoughts of her all but asleep in his bed,
     leaves more to be more, I fade to be dead.

Each mourning minute appears a burial in life,
     everywhere I see the blade of the knife;
Here I find replacement of fear,
     end of me, end is near.

Soul to be blood dead in the wind,
    sink to the ground and hide from man;
Isolate tears and kill for my own,
    I blame you for my being alone.

Paul Hickey
11-14-11

Candlelight Vigil

This is a poem about a neighborhood  teenager who was tragically killed in a car accident in 2008. The accident really hit home and the community was completely in shock.

Jess...if you can hear, please listen to me;
I never knew you,
parents, friends, grandparents, aunts, brothers
and sisters to;
Shine your bright light down on them.
All of them will forever remember,
they will always love you.
They embrace you as they hold each other.
They light a candle every day in sun and rain.
They cry because they miss you.
They pray for your return.
Flowers blowing in the breeze signal that you are somewhere,
an Angel always on their minds,
never to be truly gone from the many lives you touched.
You shall never be alone my friend
Jess...this candlelight vigil is for you.

Paul Hickey
11-16-11

Kiss the Wind

This poem is about a person's delusion of love that he can never have. He is becomes infatuated with a young woman to the point where he can only dream what It would be like if they were together. Unfortunately his imagination takes its toll and loving thoughts turn into thoughts of abuse and feelings of wanting to kill her.

You are my delusion inside me in distress,
     I hear you say "I love you" time and time again;
My delusion says, "I know you", you are inside of me,
    I see you in the halls at school and believe that you are me.

You are a visualizing image which stalks my head to death,
    I see you standing there beside me even though I'm dead;
You fill my heart and soul with lead, heavy is my head,
    if I can't imagine you at all I might as well be dead.

Pouring rain falls from my brain, could I be insane?
    every time I think of you embers to to flames;
Won't you please be part of me and save me from myself,
    I kiss the wind and feel your lips pressed to my flooded brain.
I've never had a love before, I say that i love you,
   you had to go and be a whore, now I shall kill you.

Paul Hickey
11-16-11

Kill for Your Satisfaction

This poem is about a relationship gone astray. He is having wild thoughts in his mind of reasons the love of his life won't return phone calls. He feels that he is being cheated and ignored and he doesn't know why. The result, visions of revenge and murder.

Don't understand why I am not equal to her;
why her craved desires change ever readily?
All I envision are my needs.
Onward it is love;
Involvement takes me through condemning her false innocence.
Like the wise dictates to the wiser:

     "You cannot condemn one for their words
       or contemplate a personal action;
      What you can do in spite of all of this
      is kill for your satisfaction".

You never know when one lies or betrays,
the time will come when living scenarios practically boil in your mind.
You never know if chance is full or empty with a face,
one that gives you reason to shoot and taste the blood.

All you hear are busy signals.
You feel you have received a raw deal.
"Oh how one can be so shallow as to let our existence die"?
Still she buries herself in me, leaving the fact to be,
as insanity fills my mind,
just let me live to let her die.

Paul Hickey
11-15-11
      
      

Blurry Window

This poem is about the Virginia Tech Massacres of 2007. The title itself explains it all. The person who did the shooting was irrational and lost all control of his thoughts. If you stared into his eyes all you could see is a person in a daze, lifeless inside, no feeling in his soul, a person who was completely lost..thus the title "Blurry Window". ..because looking into his eyes all you could see is confusion. This is a poem who is written through the eyes of a survivor.

Blurry Window to his soul,
ashes from his flames,
dried up blood that won't congeal
until blood is spilled again;
Blurry window to his mind,
blackened body plague,
smoke-screened mirrors through his eyes
reflecting on the dead.

Standing still, a man who's ill
from abuse sustained through life;
Looks at me, I begin to seethe,
as I hide for my dear life.

No emotion portrayed, he walks my way
with hatred for all humanity;
Shots ring out, I flinch about,
in attempt to maintain my sanity.

Gazing around my friends they fall,
my heart is broken from pain;
Still I need to stay alive
so my friends don't die in vain.

Bullets continue to riddle rooms
with impending, never ending doom;
Only place I have to hide
is to feign my death and soon.

Vastly approaching, I must be brave,
hold my breath with strength;
Hope that darkness passes me by
so that I can breathe again.

I feel the breeze of a loaded gun
being brushed upon my face;
My prayers are answered, he passes by
to exit the room with haste.

My body plastered to the floor,
numb and unable to move;
I gaze around the room once more
at my friends reduced to tombs.

Disbelief, I shed a tear,
what had he really done?
Seconds later I hear more shots
fill adjacent rooms.

Oh my God, I grip with fear,
more and more friends are lost;
Here I stay, I listen away,
at the horror of human cost.

Helpless I feel surrounded by remains
of those once considered alike;
All I can do is listen and hope
that more and more people survive.

I slither the floor feeling for more
people with an active pulse;
I hear screams, I hear yelling, I hear death,
I hear dying, echoing in the halls.

Footsteps afar, running and walking,
I can hear the sounds so clear;
Scores of people gunned down by several rounds
by a soul who just doesn't care.

Blurry window to his soul,
ashes from his flames,
dried up blood that won't congeal
until blood is spilled again;
Blurry window to his mind,
blackened body plague,
smoke-screened mirrors through his eyes
reflecting on the dead.

Amongst carnage of war I can hear
stoppage of gun-fire felt,
As rapidly approaching footsteps are heard,
I keep my body still.

Trying not to tremble with fear,
I hold my breath again,
with hope he passes me by once more
allowing my body to live.

Fear I think of death so near,
human tombs in several rooms;
Friends screaming, friends dying,
I hope to escape it soon.

Feeling his glance for assurance of death,
I feel the same old breeze,
only this time a gun is pointed at me
to make sure I don't leave.

Eyes closed not wasting a breath,
pray I don't end up dead;
Suddenly distraction heard from outside
saves my head from lead.

Sirens yell, men in blue
rush where carnage awaits;
As they do I turn away
to watch as dark escapes.

Second floor, surrounded by men,
a building hit with war;
One last shot finishes the plot
so answers cannot be born.

With wounded legs I cry,
I wait for light to enter;
Lean right back and sigh relief,
my brain becomes re-centered.

Although many friends perished from us
amongst the rubble of war;
We shall keep their memories alive,
let the Devil be warned.

We shall pick up every scattered piece,
glue them back together;
One day we may at once forgive,
we always will remember.

Paul Hickey
11-15-11

Die From Love

This poem is about a former girlfriend who was addicted to cocaine. Me showing how much I cared for her didn't matter to her. Because I cared, she did not treat me very well. Her mind was so tragically taken from her addiction that she displayed the only thing that she was use to, evil, and believing that other people are taking advantage of her, which they probably were. In her life, she really didn't feel love...just people trying to have sex with her and sell her drugs. she was not use to someone caring about her...thus the reason she treated me badly.

Culture witnessed in just one mind,
I find blood of a society woman,
the stalemate of my midnight sculpture;
death of love always unto me,
she stares at me as if prey for mouths of vultures,
stale clay of trust going blind;
Still I ponder the very best
no matter if I kill and destroy;
If I put her to rest,
will I die from love or the love of death?

Paul Hickey
11-14-11

The Battlefield

This poem is comparing life to a battlefield. Through deep military symbolism it implies one's obstacles as he/she goes through life, whatever they might be and one's ability to develop strength to overcome these obstacles.

Flaming foes scan the fields, searching for a fight,
we hide our weapons, they come probing
keeping out of sight;
Respond down low, delve up high,
the fields it seems clear,
when our guns pop up across the grounds,
we take them from the rear.

I loaded my bayonet, healed my wounded life,
saddled up the tank
for an insanely revengeful ride;
I stabbed their lives to hell, blew their minds away,
dawn has fallen about the fields,
red as a dead man lays.

When we finish our deadly chores upon the deadly field,
darkness will come to those who dare
to tame our lively shield;
Meanwhile out on the fields justice has been done,
blood has filled the atmosphere,
red as the distant sun.

Paul Hickey
11-14-11

Without Each Other

This poem is about a broken relationship. We are both sad that the relationship must come to an end. Th real culprit her is her drug addiction. Struggling with her addictions, she decides to choose cocaine over our relationship. However, she is very sad because she does not want to lose me as well. I am very sad because of the years of intimacy we spent together. I should have seen it coming earlier in the relationship. I recognize that she needs help and feel that we must end the relationship, as it is not healthy for either of us. Her getting help has priority over our relationship. However, it is difficult. what are we going to do without each other in our lives. i can't bare to see the sadness in her eyes or the stress I feel when I am around her and she is high.

Starvation eyes sweltering on minds that care,
pray Lord not seen upon our weary eyes, as existent
hunger displayed from windows of a broken Goddess.

A song heard in harmony for distance from you and me,
glowing on the surface, a perfect melody sounding better in stride,
as I see you spread through the atmosphere for miles.

Predictions overcome, we as one will never be,
interest at heart I seize, assistance in life you need,
to journey without will eat your soul until it is no more,
lengthening ghostly connections between intimacy.

Care in me, I try, blinded by your heart far and near,
as bleeding starts drowning what once had been,
without each other how can we bare to live again?

Paul Hickey
11-14-11

Symbolic Touch

This poem is about a girl who I occasionally talk to but observe from a distance. Her smile and her hair are two objects that capture the mood of the night. It starts with a brush up against the arms with her sensuous auburn hair, length down to her mid-back. It is just the beginning as her smile then brings more light to the atmosphere. This poem was written while observing her from a distance.

As she reached for the door handle, I felt her exotic auburn hair
brush against the scented pits of my receptive arms;
Thrilled by her touch, I extended my limbs to embrace her for more;
She responded with more of the same, lending her charm to alert my eyes,
a symbol described as love and tenderness coming to play.

Her eyes appear interested, her smile brightens the room,
lighting the fire inside me to show that I'm alive;
Yet words are hardly spoken complimenting timely glances near and far,
instead, we look, observe, are satisfied by visual loveliness
that stands before us under glistening romantic light.

Paul Hickey
11-14-11

Night Terror

This poem is called Night Terror. Night terror is about Night Terror disorder which is a sleep disorder. There is Night Terror Disorder and then there is Nightmare Disorder. The differences between the two are that in Night Terror Disorder, the nightmare occurs only an hour into your sleep cycle, while in Nightmare Disorder it occurs much later into your sleep cycle. Also, in Night Terror Disorder you often don't remember what the terror was about once you wake up. In Night Terror Disorder you often wake startling an hour into your sleep, suddenly rising with a traumatic frightening stare. It looks like you are awake but their surroundings are nonexistent as they are traumatically preoccupied with the occurrence of the terror. It is a very frightening disorder to those who experience the terrors and to those who have to witness the trauma. Being a therapist, I often take disorders such as Night Terror Disorder and write poetry about them to help me learn about the disorder.

I recline unrestrained in a grave repressive room,
phlegmatically,
as if my mind has declined into a tomb;
Jaded peepers are encompassed, as I vanish into sleep,
I contemplate a shimmer streaking through my earliest dream;
Murky in nightfall, no delineation of what lives,
contorted but authentic, it is capable of sin;
Accumulating impetuously through my reflection each night,
incessantly I ascend, arise in flight.

"What interlocking iniquity has trespassed through
endless canyons of my mind?
What is this intruding evil skulking,
scheming to leave me behind?

Obligatory restlessness fluctuates my flesh from a distance,
clatters windows and walls
with invigorating existence;
Oppressiveness prevails, as I find it baffling to see,
the inattentive, personifying voice
sounds ever sufficiently like me;
There is no indication, any whisper that I can tell,
if I am intimidated an hour in to my yell.

"Indulge brandished spirit,
unhand this madness unto it's end;
Release me unharmed with a manned prayer to live again".

My eyes stagnate into a broad receptive daze,
staring like a moron into the realms of space;
Black indented corneas,
porcelain frames whitely painted,
born of shadows, skulls mysteriously fainted;
Bawling horrendously to silence life in my breath,
shrieking cries hound around my head;
Peculiar situation never imagined before,
until these dwelling fiends darkened my door.

"What interlocking iniquity has trespassed through
endless canyons of my mind?
What is this intruding evil skulking,
scheming to leave me behind?
Indulge brandished spirit,
unhand this madness unto it's end;
Release me unharmed with a manned prayer to live again".

Uncomfortable expiring drift, amok, from dead dark to first dawn,
suddenly my cask opens,
"befall!" Dusk is gone;
After minutes of perspiration, calmness purifies me with time,
as remarkably but lethargically
I open the shades of my eyes;
Miracle stricken, my heart is still ticking,
in my room I reside,
remembrance but a spec of dust out of reach,
no clues or wonder of why.

Paul Hickey
11-11-11

I wouldn't Have it Any Other Way

This poem is about a former girlfriend who once again cheated on me. Its about anger and how my anger is actually keeping me warm. Without it I would probably do something drastic. The anger it burns inside of me and it actually feels pretty good because accompanying my anger are thoughts of revenge being carried out.

My rational mind is irrational today,
I see blood, I see death, I see dying;
Not one single word is articulate today,
I see a woman without soul who is crying.

I feel in control though my heart is torn out,
I smell fear, you can bet that I'm smiling;
I see blood, I see death, I see dying so sweet,
not a tear on my face of me crying.

I see a woman without soul in six feet of dirt,
her voice muffled with two pounds of dirt;
What an honor this is, to honor this fit,
to unload my mind of this hurt.

I think I should cry, I'm living a lie,
my heart it feels warm inside;
I feel anger, I feel hate, I feel betrayal of late,
possessing me with murderous eyes.

It's so good, it's so sweet, she is six feet beneath,
I feel warmer every time I breathe;
Nothing else matters, I'm no longer alone,
I've got anger to soothe my needs.

Watching her die, watching him fry,
watching them in death together;
They may be together, I'm not alone,
I've got anger to satisfy my pleasure.

Watching them die, watching them fry,
as light within me fades;
Maybe I'll cry, most likely I'll die,
I wouldn't have it any other way.

Paul Hickey
11-10-11

Light at the End of the Tunnel

This is a poem about cocaine addiction. I had a girlfriend who was addicted to cocaine. She was manipulative and it totally destroyed our relationship. She went as far as selling her body for cocaine. This poem reflects my feelings about the dealers and my conscious plea to have her come to grips with her addiction.

Awakening to unpleasant sightings of tomorrow,
I deal with agony of lost friends;
Blinded by grayness of the morning,
time to get up to shed more tears,
as contacts fall from mindless stormy weather,
dangerous blizzards of white powder.

Ambition destructs, as flightiness prevails,
rapidly descending snow contributes to downfalls of failure,
momentary ascent, head above ground,
quickly changes to heavy avalanches burying one deep
in white trenches with no visible means of escape.
As I watch others give in to madness,
trauma fills my head with fear that deterioration
will internally kill, leading to physical and actual death.

Adrenalin surges through my veins as I try to fathom
those responsible for felony dealing, mentally and
physically altering bodily functions while glorifying
themselves in other's misfortune,
hoisting an anchor on many hearts.

Still I care and fight for the lost in an effort to help guide
the way to the light at the end of the darkened tunnel;
No harsh words of anger by diseased souls will stop me
from supplying you with remedy for cleanliness;
Aware of possible manipulation, I understand
the consequences involved with snow-blind addiction,
grievance sends you away moaning,
as animosity in me continuously proceeds.

Flowers lacking stem suffocating in whitish dim powder
worthless and stripped of motivation;
It's time to defeat demons overtaking consciousness,
that darken doorsteps in vain,
find purpose again, dismantle this hardened pain.

Paul Hickey
11-9-11